


Elf on The Shelf

by Who_Needs_Reality



Series: Christmas Fics 2016 [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy dresses as an Elf and Clarke goes with it, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Craigslist, Elf on the Shelf, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Pranks and Practical Jokes, feat. Bellamy in a Christmas onesie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8787583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_Needs_Reality/pseuds/Who_Needs_Reality
Summary: Clarke has to re-read the post three times: once to make sure she's not misread it, once to confirm that that is, in fact, a photo of Bellamy, and once to form the weirdest plot of all time.This is an AU based on a viral Craigslist post. Make of that what you will.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I read [this](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-3366024/I-ll-stare-emptily-guests-Boston-man-offers-serve-living-Elf-Shelf-100-HOUR-creepy-Christmas-Craigslist-ad.html) article and the stupidest AU of all time was born. Idek.

“Um, Clarke,” Wells sounds a little strangled, and Raven is leaning over his shoulder in seconds to examine his laptop, “have you seen this?”

Clarke glances up from her note book where she’s currently sketching a caricature of her mother and Wells’s father as Yzma and Kronk. “What? Have you found _the one_?”

Raven bursts into laughter so hard she _wheezes,_ and Wells can’t swallow his grin. 

“Oh you bet he has,” Raven says when she regains the power of speech, passing the laptop across, and Clarke takes it, frowning. 

 

They are currently scouring the internet for....okay, it’s _not_ an escort. Clarke can’t emphasize enough how much she _does not_ want an escort site. All she wants is someone she can pay to pose as her date for one night. Yes, it sounds like the plot of a bad Hallmark Christmas movie, and in all fairness, that is what she and Raven were watching while Clarke lamented tipsily about how even though she was “really _really_ super-duper happy” that Raven and Wells finally got their shit together and started dating, it meant that her newfound position as a third wheel would make the Christmas gala she was being dragged to--“HELLFEST TWENTY-SIXTEEN!” she had yelled loudly at Raven while Raven petted her hair--would now be “even suckier than usual, and it’s usually sucky to the suckiest degree.” A little wailing, a few glasses of wine and thirty minutes of the said Hallmark movie later, and Raven had pitched a scheme that involved Clarke bringing a date too so that she wouldn’t have to third wheel. 

“Okay but I don’t see why we have to find some stranger-for-hire on the internet,” Wells had said, frowning when they roped him in, “can’t you just ask someone you know?”

“The movie Wells!” Raven had grabbed her boyfriend’s face and stared at him, eyes wide, “the movie used Craigslist! The movie is our guiding light!”

The scheme had sounded perfectly reasonable when she and Raven were both inebriated, but they were discovering that in practice, all it was doing was leading them to some sketchy corners of the internet, because, wow people rent themselves out for some _weird_ shit, and ninety percent of what they’ve come across so far is all too seedy and borderline illegal for Clarke’s relatively simple needs.

 

So her curiosity is piqued when she looks at the Craigslist posting Wells passes her. Her eyebrows shoot up her face as she reads, because, _what_? Clarke scrolls down a little further where there is a picture attached and _oh_. 

“Is that....” she trails off, while Wells and Raven cackle. Clarke has to re-read the post three times: once to make sure she's not misread it, once to confirm that that is, in fact, a photo of _Bellamy_ , and once to form the weirdest plot of all time.

***

Bellamy already has her usual order ready when she walks into the café, a steaming macchiato with her name on the paper cup and a warm chocolate chip muffin ready and waiting on a tray at the edge of the table. The sight makes her chest go warm, and she grins at him as she goes to collect it.

“How do you always know when I’m going to arrive?” she asks.

He grins right back, tapping a finger to his temple. “Premonition.”  
She snorts. “You know one of these days I’m going to want to shake things up, go with a vanilla latte or something, and then this will all backfire horribly.”

“Since you’ve ordered the exact same thing for three months, I’m not holding my breath.” He looks amused, and Clarke takes him in for a moment before clearing her throat.

“So I’m not just here for coffee,” she says.

“I know, that’s why you have a muffin.”

“Shut up. I’m here for you.”

He quirks an eyebrow but she refuses to blush, just pulls the printout from her pocket and unfolds it carefully, sliding it to him across the counter. He takes it, glancing at her before reading the sheet.

 _For $100/hour I will come to your holiday party dressed as the Elf on the Shelf and sit in any location you assign me while I stare emptily at your guests for the duration of the event._  

Below is a headshot of Bellamy wearing a pair of reindeer antlers and glowering into the camera. 

He sets the paper down carefully, looking curious but in no way embarrassed. “You know there’s a contact number on this,” he says, “you didn’t have to come see me in person.”

“Um, yes. Yes I definitely did.” Clarke flexes her fingers. “Just to confirm, this is definitely your listing, right? This isn’t just someone using your photo for some weird internet prank?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Nope,” he pops the ‘p,’ “that’s all me.”

“So....you actually do this.”

He leans back now, crossing his arms across his chest and looking like he’s quite enjoying himself. “For a hundred bucks an hour I do.”

Clarke considers him carefully. “Okay,” she says slowly, “can I ask why?”

He shrugs, and Clarke is momentarily incredulous that they are having a normal conversation about this, like this is the kind of thing people do all the time. “Long story involving some drunk bets with my friend Miller and my desperate need for cash.”

“Have you like, actually done this before? Have people actually responded”

He grins. “Once or twice.”

Clarke stares at him again, and she feels weirdly self-conscious given _he’s_ the one selling himself as one of Santa’s Little Helpers.

“How did you find that?” Bellamy nods at the sheet, “I figured it was lost in the internet vortex or something.”

“I was. Um. Looking for entertainment for my mother’s Christmas party.” She doesn’t want her hot barista to know she was enacting a Hallmark scheme, so sue her.

“And did you?”

When she grins at him, it’s a challenge. “I think so.”

***

Even Raven is stunned into silence, which is, in it’s own way, somewhat gratifying.

“You hired him.” Wells just sounds sort of flat, not judgmental, just disbelieving.

Raven exhales in a huff through her teeth. “Jesus, Clarke, I know I’ve joked about your incompetence when it comes to dealing with crushes--”

“Hey!”

“But this is something else.”

“Would it have been so hard to just ask you Barista crush to be your date to the party?” Wells asks, exasperated.

“Yes?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “So you’re going to have to pay three-hundred bucks, piss off your mother, spend an evening panicking because he’ll be right there and you still don’t know how to interact with him, and you still won’t be boning him,” Raven concludes.  
“Hey it’s not that bad. It’s a legitimately funny prank!” Clarke protests.

“ _Sure_ ,” Raven says, shooting Clarke a knowing glance, “the _elf_ will be the hilarious part.”

“I hate you.”

***

On a distant, rational level, Clarke knows she doesn’t really _need_ to worry about what to wear tonight, because it’s not like Bellamy is coming as her date, and she always looks presentable at these things, because stupidly expensive dresses and glitzy jewelry can do that for a person. That doesn’t stop her from calling Raven in a panic three hours before the party. 

“What the hell do I wear?”

“The dress you bought for this a month ago, Clarke,” Raven says, her voice dripping with the patience one might use to address a frantic child.

“My hair’s not doing anything I tell it to!”

Raven sighs long-sufferingly. “Do you want me to come over so we can get ready together?”

Clarke’s petulant silence is its own answer. 

“For the record,” Raven says, “this is exactly why your Barista Elf plan was stupid as fuck.

 

Still, because Raven does have a heart, and also finds Clarke’s incompetence in normal things like feelings both academically fascinating and generally hilarious, she shows up an hour later toting a bag with her own dress in it and her make-up kit. 

“You’re going to look beautiful, the prank will be hilarious and liven the party up for everyone, and everything will be fine,” Raven says in lieu of a greeting.

“Wells told you to say that.”

“Oh yeah. I think this is going to blow up horribly because this is a stupid-as-shit way to interact with your crush outside of his workplace. But we _can_ amplify your natural hotness so much that you’ll feel too self-confident to worry about the whole train wreck.”

“Your love and support mean the world, Rae.”

Raven grins, and because there’s still a while left before they have to get ready (Clarke does everything early if possible, and this includes having meltdowns about her poor life choices), so they flop on the couch and queue up a couple of episodes of Buffy.

Clarke’s phone pings, and she sees with a start that it’s a text from Bellamy. They’d exchanged numbers as part of the transaction so that she could send him the details of the venue and timing and stuff, but she didn’t expect him to actually _text_ her. Not like this, casually, out-of-the blue.

 _Still on for tonight?_ it reads. 

_I paid $300 for this Bellamy, don’t flake out now_

_Wouldn’t dream of it_

She smiles at the phone in spite of herself, the image of Bellamy Blake in an elf costume staring down her mother too funny _not_ to laugh at. But she considers it a moment longer and worries her lip.

 _You’re sure you want to do this though?_ She writes. _Because if you’re uncomfortable you can back out, I won’t force you or anything_.

There’s a minute or so when nothing happens, and then the phone starts ringing, so suddenly she almost drops it. Raven glances at her sharply, and she shuts herself quickly in her bedroom before picking up.

“Hey,” she says. 

“Is this your way of saying that _you’re_ uncomfortable?” he asks, and his voice is gravelly and amused.

“No,” she huffs.

“Seriously, Clarke, what’s up?” he sounds more gentle now, in a way that is both excellent and disastrous for her emotional stability right now. 

She sighs. “It’s just...okay, these parties are awful. _Really_ awful.”

“You mentioned,” he says, “lots of prejudiced rich people right?”

“Hoards of them.” She licks her lip where she’d bitten it earlier before continuing. “They’re all--they’re really judgmental assholes Bellamy.”

“ _I’m_ a judgmental asshole,” he points out.

“Yeah but they’re the nasty, condescending kinds of judgmental assholes, you’re the cute kind.” She blushes furiously when she realises what she just said. Bellamy doesn’t respond for a moment, and Clarke sort of wants to hang up and wait for the sweet embrace of death then and there, but then he speaks again. 

“What are you worried about?” he asks.

She sighs. “I’m used to them, okay? I’ve been through the whole circus before, the casual biphobia and the sneering at the career path and everything. But you’re not and whilst having you there as a prank would be funny I know they’ll start casting judgment and saying shit and--” she hopes he can’t hear her swallow--“I don’t want them to hurt you.” Her voice comes out very very small.

Bellamy is quiet for a few beats. “Clarke,” he says slowly, and there is something in his voice that sounds an awful lot like fondness, “you say this like dressing up in an Elf costume in public gatherings _doesn’t_ usually invite judgment and confusion.”

A smile tugs at her mouth. “You make a good point.”

He chuckles softly. “I promise you I’m not doing this because I’m expecting a dignified reception and respectful conversation.”

She laughs weakly. “I’m just saying, they really are a pack of judgy douchebags.”

“That just means it’s going to be even more fun to make them all super uncomfortable. Also,” he says conspiratorially, “I don’t know if you heard, but I’m making three hundred bucks from this.”

Clarke snorts, feeling a surge of affection for him. “My wallet did tell me.”

“Good. So I’ll see you at the hotel at eight?”

“See you then.” She clicks off the phone and walks back into the living room, where Raven isn’t even trying to pretend she wasn’t pressing her ear to the door in an attempt to eavesdrop. 

“This is annoyingly thick,” she says glibly, wrapping on the wood of the door, “what did he say?” she waggles her eyebrows.

“He was just confirming that the plan was still a go.

Raven hummed. “Awfully long confirmation.”

“Let’s just get ready now,” Clarke says, eager to avoid a Spanish Inquisition. 

 

“Oh my God,” Clarke groans, “Wells is going to _die_.”

“Of course he is,” Raven smirks, turning this way and that to examine herself in the mirror. Her dress is bright red, floor length, and tight enough that it does great things for her--well, for her everything.

“If you weren’t my best friend I would hate you so hard,” Clarke tells her.

“You’d also date me, if I wasn’t already with Wells,” Raven informs her, applying some mascara, “and Wells is going to want to date me all over again.” She gives herself a final once-over. “ _I_ kind of want to date me. It’s not fair I’ll never get a piece of this.”

Clarke rolls her eyes.

“Alright, lets get a look at you,” Raven says, and Clarke stands to show-off the full ensemble. Her dress is pale blue and figure-hugging, unadorned except for a few simple flowers scattered down the skirt, from underneath which her strappy silver heels sandals peek out. Her hair is in a fairly simple low chignon, a few locks hanging loose to frame her face, and her only make-up is grey eyeliner that makes her blue irises pop, and some pale pink lipstick.

“I’d like to amend my earlier statement,” Raven says, “I want to date me, but have a very hot intense affair with you on the side.”

“Jesus, Raven.”

“I mean, praise the lord, you’ve accepted that you have cleavage!” Raven gestures at her chest. “Accepted and embraced! Seriously girl,” she grins and slings an arm around her neck, smacking a kiss on her cheek, “you look great.”

They take a slew of increasingly ridiculous selfies until Wells texts to say he’s outside. 

 

He’s wearing a tux, and beams when Clarke opens the door. “I feel like this is prom all over again.”

“Well young man, you take care of her tonight,” Clarke says, mock-sternly, and she can tell when Raven appears behind her because Wells’s eyes go very round and he blushes really hard. “Wow,” he whispers.

“You say this like you haven’t already seen her naked,” Clarke says, amused.

“Several times,” Raven offers, but she’s beaming the wide, totally genuine beam she only uses with him. “You look really good.”

“You’re disgusting, the pair of you,” Clarke says but she grins at them nonetheless. 

Raven snorts. “Don’t begrudge us the pleasure of basking in each other’s hotness, Clarke.” She slings an arm around her and laces her fingers with Wells’s, grinning maniacally. “Let’s get this shitshow on the road.”

***

Clarke would have been nervous about the party anyway, but the whole Bellamy Elf thing is adding untold layers to her stress. 

“Mom,” she says once Abby’s greeted all of them, “I just wanted you to know, I’ve booked some, ah, entertainment for tonight.”

Abby’s lips purse. “But Clarke, we already have the string quartet--”

“He won’t--this won’t interfere with that, promise.” Before she has time to babble further, her phone pings, and she reads the text. “I’m going to go let him in,” she says.

 

Bellamy is waiting with his hands in the pocket of his peacoat, and he glances up when she pushes open the lobby door.

“I don’t see an elf costume,” she says by way of a greeting, though she’s grinning.

“Local pedestrians didn’t pay for the privilege to see that,” he answers, “but never you mind.”

She almost has a coronary when he undoes the fly of his jeans deftly, shrugging the coat off as they drop, leaving him in the tightest, brightest red onesie she has ever seen. Gravely, he produces a green felt elf hat trimmed in white that he pulls onto his head. There’s a bell hanging off the end of it that jingles slightly when he drops his hands, and Clarke can’t help it.

She fucking _loses it_ , doubled over in laughter so hard she can’t breathe. She laughs so hard that she’s worried she might actually have offended him when she straightens up, but he’s grinning at her proudly. 

“Told you I’d deliver.”

Clarke can’t quite reply yet, but she thinks he gets the message from her unwavering grin.

There’s more cackling from behind her as Raven and Wells, curious to see what the noise was all about, emerge from the main ballroom and see Bellamy.

“Oh my God,” Wells says, “oh my _God_.”

“Abby will definitely kill you,” Raven says to them, looking ecstatic, “this is amazing.”

Bellamy chuckles before turning back to Clarke. “So, where did you want me?”

She considers for a moment. “I can put you in the hall if you like, where there’ll be less people.”

“Hey,” his expression softens with his voice, “I told you, I’m _good_ with this. Go big or go home.”

And yeah it’s pretty much what he told her before, but it’s _so_ much better in person. “Alright,” Clarke says, the grin spreading across her face slow and catlike, “I know a place.”

“Lead the way,” Bellamy says, and she turns to the door, Wells and Raven already back inside. “Oh, and Clarke?”

She glances back over her shoulder.

He beams. “You look incredible.”

***

Abby _is_ angry. Furious in fact. “ _What_ ” she hisses at Clarke whilst trying to appear like they’re in cordial conversation, “is he _doing_?”

Clarke glances over at Bellamy and has to fight not to succumb to hysterical laughter again. He’s sat on the huge mantelpiece in at the end of the room, his red-spandex-wrapped legs hanging off the side. The bell of his hat is dangling in front of his nose, and his arms are crossed as he stares into space, face expressionless. People keep casting nervous looks at him, and there’s a semicircle of empty space around him where no one wants to approach him.

“He’s entertaining,” Clarke says.

“He’s entertaining _you_ ,” Abby snaps.  
“Well. Yeah.”

“Do you delight in ruining these things?”

Clarke’s eyes flick back to Bellamy, where Cage Wallace has ventured to try to make conversation. She can’t really tell what he’s saying, though judging by the sneering expression and odd hand gestures, it’s something unpleasant and patronising. She watches with bated breath, but Bellamy simply readjusts his gaze slightly so that his empty, soulless stare is fixed blandly on Cage’s face. He doesn’t flicker or flinch in the slight, and Cage slowly gets less and less animate, hunching back more and more, till eventually he turns and all but runs away.

“Immensely,” Clarke replies, and she’s grinning this.”

 

“I hate to admit it,” Raven says later, as the last guest are leaving, “but that actually worked.”

Wells is still wiping tears. “I’ve never laughed at one of these things period,” he says, “but _oh my God_.”

Clarke laughs, and grins over at where Bellamy is resolutely still and in character. “I’d say it was a success.”

“You know,” Raven says leaning forward and winking, “there’s still time for even _more_ success.” She winks.

Clarke opens her mouth to protest, but then doesn’t, because, _well_. 

“Seriously,” Raven continues. “Wells and I can get out of here and give you some space to jump on the elf.”

She raises an eyebrow at the pair of them. “Sure, _that’s_ why you two are in such a hurry to leave.”

Wells chuckles. “Like Raven said, don’t begrudge us our hotness!”

“You’re disgusting!” she calls after them as they leave, but she smiling as she shakes her head. Abby is ushering away guests in the lobby, and no one else is left in the ballroom now. Clarke crosses over to the mantlepiece. Bellamy doesn't react when she gets there, and Clarke glances at the clock next to him, lips twitching as she waits for it to strike eleven, signaling the end of the three hours. As soon as it does, he breaks into a grin, hoisting himself down.

“God I’m stiff,” he says, stretching his arms way back and rolling his neck, and Clarke notices that the tight onesie does awesome things to his muscle definition. 

“That was impressive,” she says laughing, “I’m floored.”

“Yeah?” he laughs, looking endearingly pleased, and Clarke sees his smile and knows she _has_ to say something.

“I’m kind of disappointed though.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “And why might that be?”

“I’ve been trying to see you away from your work for the longest time, yet when I finally get you out of the café it’s only because I’m paying you.” Her heart is thudding in her chest.

Bellamy smiles so widely her breath catches. “Is that right?” He steps infinitesimally closer to her.

She nods.

He shifts again, just minutely closer. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get out of paying me.” He’s still smiling though, so she’s pretty sure it’s okay.

This time, Clarke steps forward. It’s only a little shift, but they’re practically toe-to-toe now. “Not quite,” she says, and forces herself to stay _focused_ even when his hands drop to her waist and her brain short-circuits temporarily, “I’m just saying, I think you could, potentially, use some of that three hundred dollar paycheck to take me out.” And then because it’s her, and she can be smooth but not _that_ smooth, she has to add: “on a date. If you want to. Or I could pa--” she’s cut off by the pressure of his mouth slanting over her own, and she’s can’t think of anything else except the warmth of his hands on her back as he presses her close and the cool taste of his kiss.

“I think that can be arranged,” he says when he finally pulls back--not _far_ back, just enough to tip his forehead against hers--leaving her a little (a lot) breathless. 

She bites her lip when she grins, and he huffs a laugh, burying his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“I have to admit,” he says, and she feels his mouth move against her skin, “I imagined this differently.”

She’s having a hard time forming complete sentences because _he’s imagined this too_ , and he’s mouthing at her neck, but she manages to say “oh?”

He groans a little, still not easing up his ministrations. “Yeah,” he says between the kisses he’s peppering up the column of her neck, “I wasn’t going to be wearing the elf suit.”

It’s Clarke’s turn to pull back, just enough to tug his ridiculous hat off allowing her to _finally_ tangle her fingers in his curls, which feel better than she could’ve thought possible. “I don’t know,” she says, “I kind of like the elf suit.”  
“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Although,” and her grins becomes positively devilish, “if it _really_ bothers you, you could always take it off.”

 

They don’t really talk anymore the rest of the night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you gained some amusement from my trash! Like/Comment to propel further dumb AU ideas!


End file.
